


cicatrice

by silpium



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 13:58:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14695626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silpium/pseuds/silpium
Summary: Kageyama has wounds all over his body.Some of them still hurt; some don’t. Some are a gory, scarlet red that bleed out from the center like a rose’s petals; some are a faint, healing pink, pretty in the strangest of ways, like the gentle, barely-there light of dawn. Some of them he remembers how he got; some of them he doesn't.In which Kageyama's emotional distress appears as wounds on his body, and as he grows up, he learns how to live with them.





	cicatrice

**Author's Note:**

> anddd here it is!! ;v; this is a huge departure from how i usually write my kagehina fics, and i'm really proud of this one! i'm super sorry for my long hiatus, but i think i'm getting back into the groove of writing, so hopefully that won't happen again! 
> 
> only cws are referenced bullying, that kageyama has a lotttt of internalized prejudice abt his wounds that might make you uneasy, and that my descs of his wounds might be a lil off-putting at times! i don't get super graphic, though!

Kageyama has wounds all over his body.

Some of them still hurt; some don’t. Some are a gory, scarlet red that bleed out from the center like a rose’s petals; some are a faint, healing pink, pretty in the strangest of ways, like the gentle, barely-there light of dawn. Some of them he remembers how he got; some of them he doesn't.

They’ve been around for as long as he can remember. As a kid, he saw soft trails of red and green and yellow all down his arms and legs, like a grotesque rainbow, and couldn’t figure out where a single one came from. He remembers his mother fretting over him every time he came home like he was fragile and about to shatter at any moment. He remembers hearing the hushed, quiet conversations with his father, wondering what was _wrong_ with their son. 

As he gets older, it only gets worse. His wounds before were all superficial, little bruises and scrapes on his arms and legs—ones that barely ever stung, if they were even sore at all—that healed in a few hours or days. Once he hits elementary school, when everyone’s cliques have truly formed without him in any, they become a grade worse: more scathing, more scarring, more searing. They start growing from little bruises to deep gouges all across his arms and legs, criss-crossing like skeletal tree branches, that scar over in patterns all across his body. 

If Kageyama had been too off-putting and awkward to be part of a friend group before, he certainly wasn’t any more appealing after the scars started appearing. The wounds build up and up, like a never-ending construction project: the more he’s isolated, the more they appear, and the more they appear, the more he’s isolated.

Volleyball becomes something of a refuge, then. In volleyball, it’s not who he is or what he looks like that matters, but instead his ability—and the other players simply have to respect the undeniable skill that he possesses. It’s an escape, more than anything else, but he grows to love it more than he’s loved any other thing: if the world is a room with no exits, then volleyball is an meadow with miles upon miles of open space and beauty and _opportunity_. Even if only for a short practice, he can forget his freakish wounds—this one that’s lasted since first grade, this other one that just appeared but is already an angry, molten red—and be more than those.

That’s not to say that volleyball is perfect, of course. He still gets jeers and stares—the enraptured but disgusted kind, like someone transfixed by a car accident—and comments, but they’re lesser. And, well, that’s enough. 

Some of his worst wounds heal, over time, even some of the gashes that had been on his neck since childhood. Things get better, little by little, even if the wounds never really disappear.

/ * \

The first wound he attributes to volleyball appears in his second year. It’s after Oikawa and Iwaizumi have graduated, the great pillars of the team that held it together, and Kageyama can feel the stress radiating from the third years on downwards through the team.

He’s no stranger for the yearning to win games, the final tourney, as innate as breathing, but it’s never felt quite this _hungry_ before, like it’ll consume his entire self, or maybe even the entire team if they let it run free. He just might _die_ if he doesn’t win. The team has the potential, after all, just has to put in the _tiniest_ bit of effort, and it would be so _easy_ —

Kageyama’s fingers twitch at the thought of it, of how close they are to being undeniably strong. He wants to win—of course they all want to win. So he starts to push them, correct them where and when he sees errors, just the same as he would want anyone to do to him. And everything starts going wrong.

The first time he hears the word “king” muttered behind his back, there’s a new scar awaiting him when he gets home. It’s scarlet, deep scarlet as though it’s oozing blood, and Kageyama can’t stop touching it, even though it _stings_ to touch. It spans across the center of his chest, easily the largest scar Kageyama’s ever had.

Volleyball stops being an untarnished solace.

/ * \

Kageyama has wounds all over his body. This, he knows. He has them all across his arms, legs, face, neck, from little cuts and bruises to brown-black scabs and deep scars that look fatal.

He knows he stands out. He’s used to people staring, pointing, making comments. Even so, there’s this boy who’s been staring at him ever since they entered the court to warm up, and Kageyama can just _feel_ his eyes on his back.

It’s bothering him to no end. He’s almost gone over and snapped at the kid—he has to be a first year with how short and evidently inexperienced he is—more than once, but he can’t risk interrupting practice before the final tourney of all tournaments. After their loss in his second year, this is what he’s been dreaming of, practicing for, pushing his teammates for—this is what everything culminates at.

So he leaves the kid be, lets him stare. He’s used to it, anyway.

/ * \

When he runs into the kid outside the bathrooms, he’s almost envious of how carefree and oblivious he is. _As long as you don’t give up_ , that _it doesn’t matter_ that he’s not tall. Life isn’t that easy, where everything is handed to you on a silver platter _as long as you don’t give up_ , where your physical appearance doesn’t matter.

But there’s also something special in him, something that makes Kageyama’s heart twinge a little. Nobody’s ever really spoken to Kageyama like that, like they’re on the same level, not keeping him at a respectable, pointed distance. This boy was different—like he didn’t even see the wounds marring Kageyama’s body all over.

For the first time in a long, long time, Kageyama lets himself wonder what being ‘normal’ would be like.

/ * \

_As long as you don’t give up_. Kageyama had sneered, but maybe there is something to that, with the way the boy played—with the way he _flew_. The moment he scored a genuine point against Kitagawa Daiichi is seared into Kageyama’s memory: there’s more to this kid than just oddness, being able to see past Kageyama’s scars. There’s bristling, untapped _talent_ , burning like the embers of a fire begging to be ignited.

When Kageyama demands to know where he’s been the last three years, it’s not out of malice. It’s out of a unfettered, fiery anger that this talent was so obviously unused, annoyance that it was so obviously going to waste with such a team, envy that he didn’t have such raw skill, and this regret mixing with desire that—that—that—

And yet again, Kageyama can’t help but _wonder_ and wish he wasn’t so—disfigured.

/ * \

Kageyama arrives at Karasuno and learns the boy’s name. _Hinata_. He hadn’t forgotten—instead, he had the thought of him linger with him the rest of the tournament through the rest of the school year and summer.

The two of them do not get along, at first. But no matter what, Hinata never looks at him weird because of his wounds, or makes a remark digging at them, or ever even acknowledges them, when Kageyama could even catch the dignified upperclassmen looking at him, sometimes, like a strange sculpture in a museum.

Kageyama is grateful.

After a while, things change. Time is kind; Hinata and Kageyama grow closer, into something resembling friendship. Kageyama’s not so sure—he’s never had someone to call a “friend” before, but this is probably what friendship feels like. It reminds him of spring, of the smell of fresh air and of things new—the sense of tranquility and grounding that brings, the sense of gentle, plain _contentedness_ unfurling and growing within him like a flower blossoming. Hinata carries that feeling around with him. 

Kageyama notices, after some time of this camaraderie, that he hasn’t gotten a many new wounds at all. They’ve been healing more than he’s been getting them. It’s the first time that this has ever happened, except maybe when he was a kid in preschool and kindergarten. 

His wounds have been stinging less, too. Karasuno has been good to him, both in terms of a team that cares about him and in terms of a school that doesn’t ostracize him: he does still get looks, stares, but there are less, like the team and school has gotten used to him over time, and nobody seems to really talk behind his back like they did at Kitagawa Daiichi.

It’s different, and gratitude wells up in Kageyama like a fountain.

/ * \

He and Hinata are practicing during their lunch break when Hinata finally broaches the subject. It’s one of those early autumn days, where the air is just crisp enough to redden their noses and make them want to reach for a jacket, and the leaves are beginning to turn that red-brown that Hinata’s told Kageyama—numerous times—that he just loves.

“I can’t imagine playing volleyball with all those wounds,” Hinata says, conversationally, like they’ve talked about Kageyama’s wounds countless times before. “They look like they hurt really badly. How do you manage it?”

Kageyama freezes and misses the ball that Hinata had bumped back to him. It hits the ground next to him, bounces once, twice, and rolls to a stop. “Oh, uh.” Nobody’s ever really _asked_ about his wounds, much less so casually. “Not all of them hurt. It’s a lot worse than it looks. Only a few of them hurt at any given time, usually the most recent ones, and then they just… linger.”

Hinata seems encouraged by the fact that Kageyama even responded. Especially as his response was “ _dumbass_ ”-free. “Oh, that’s kind of cool, don’t you think? You’re like a warrior! You know, wham, pow, all that good stuff, but you don’t even feel half the pain of it!”

Hinata’s grinning like he believes what he’s saying, and Kageyama.... Kageyama is lost for words, for a moment. He’s never spoken about his wounds to someone, and certainly never expected such an earnestly positive reaction. He’s also certainly never thought his wounds were _cool_. “Dumbass,” he mutters, ducking his head as he goes after the ball he missed earlier. “They’re not _cool_. I look like—like… I look weird,” he says, it slipping out without him thinking.

“Yeah, and I look weird standing as a starting player on the court! So what? At least you could have a cool story behind your appearance!” Hinata starts trying to imitate Kageyama’s voice, purposefully bad and pompous. “Like, _oh, I got this scar when I fought off the Grand King in the great battle of_ —”

Kageyama bites out a laugh. “There’s probably _something_ from him, somewhere. Or there was. I had a lot of pent-up jealousy in middle school.” He tosses the ball up in the air and bumps it back to Hinata.

Hinata, because he’s Hinata, misses. “Wait, what? Did you pick a fight with him or something? _Kageyamaaaaaa_ , you can’t go doing that sort of thing! You’ll _die_!”

“It’s—it’s not like that, exactly,” Kageyama falters, watching the ball roll behind Hinata and away from them, transfixed. “It’s stupid.” 

“Can’t be stupider than picking a fight with the Grand King,” Hinata retorts, sticking his tongue out.

“ _Ugh_ , fine. It wasn't because of a fight— or, at least, not a physical one. There’s a sort of pattern to when they show up. Like whenever something really upsets me, or I get really overwhelmed or angry, one of them appears. They hurt for a while afterwards, too, until I get over it. So I guess they’re like—emotional wounds. As weird as it sounds.” The ball bumps against the wall behind Hinata with a soft _thump_ , bounces back from it a little, and Kageyama keeps his eyes on it.

“That’s not _that_ weird,” Hinata says easily. “It’s not like it doesn’t make sense. Anyway, thank you for telling me. I know it must not be something you like talking about.”

Kageyama ducks his head, jogging to get the ball, a sense of relief washing over him. He wasn’t sure what to expect from Hinata, when Hinata’s so… _Hinata_ , but this was probably the best possible reaction—like nothing’s even changed. And, somehow, Kageyama feels a weight lifting off of him, like clouds being cleared from the sky.

When he gets home that night, he notices that a few of his more minor wounds, and some of his long-lasting ones, too, ones from middle school, have changed color a little, all dawn-pink in their healing. He realizes, too, that the sting he had become so accustomed to from them have faded to a dull, dull pinch.

/ * \

Hinata invites him over a few days later. Kageyama isn’t quite so sure how to react—he’s never had a friend invite him over. He hadn’t even had a friend to invite him over in the first place. How is Hinata’s family going to react to, well, _him_? Has Hinata talked about him? What has he said? What if they think he’s a freak, or—

Hinata can tell immediately that Kageyama’s freaking out, his face freezing halfway between shock and a grimace. “Chill out, will you? My parents will be fine with you, and Natsu’ll love you, I promise. It won’t be a surprise for them or anything, either. I’ve told them about, well, y’know. And they’re totally cool with it! They’re excited to meet you.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Kageyama says, and he does.

Hinata has that comforting presence of his that eases Kageyama’s anxiety to a low simmer, not that forceful boil, and makes his fears feel unfounded. They’re still there, of course, still bubbling and bristling, but they're not quite as prominent, not quite as controlling.

So he decides to go. Hinata practically beams at him when he agrees, like Kageyama’s made his day, and maybe Kageyama has. “Oh, oh, that's great, Kageyama! _Uwah_ , we’re gonna have _so_ much fun—”

Kageyama gives him a tiny, tiny smile. “Yeah, we will,” he agrees, and Hinata’s grin grows even wider.

/ * \

“You’re hurt all over,” Natsu says immediately when Kageyama walks through the door with Hinata a few nights later. “Are you okay?”

“Huh? I’m fine, Natsu,” Hinata says, looking himself over. “What're you looking at?”

“Not _you_ , dummy! I mean your friend!”

“Natsu, I told you that Kageyama has a lot of bumps and scrapes, remember? But he’s okay. They don’t hurt the same as yours hurt you.”

“Oh, right!” Natsu visibly brightens, and jumps up from her seat, running over to Kageyama. “Tobio, Tobio, I’m kind of like you! Look, here, I got this bruise from practicing volleyball with nii-chan the other day, and this one from playing on the playground with Sayaka, and this one—”

Kageyama freezes, eyes sliding over to Hinata in a plea for help. “Um, yeah, Natsu—”

“Yep, you sure are!” Hinata bends down to Natsu’s height, ruffling her hair. “Kageyama’s never met someone like him, so I’m sure he appreciates it, but he doesn’t like talking about it, okay? Maybe you two can talk about something else later, like that drawing you did the other day in class, the one with the flowers? But right now, Kageyama and I gotta go study. I’ll bring him back down for you later, I promise!” 

Hinata winks at her, and then takes Kageyama's arm, leading up through the house and upstairs to his room. “Sorry about that,” Hinata says, at the same time Kageyama thanks him. “I swear I told her, but I guess she forgot.”

“It’s okay,” Kageyama tells him as Hinata collapses onto his bed, Kageyama sitting on the edge of it uncertainly. It _is_ okay, really. “Just makes me feel weird. Nobody's ever reacted like that.”

“Natsu’s a sweetheart like that, yeah. You should be able to expect this kind of reaction, though. I hate that you can’t.”

Kageyama swallows. “I’m used to it, though. It’s not that big—”

“You're _not_ , though,” Hinata interrupts him gently. “I’ve noticed you get bruises on your neck after some jerk’s made a comment about your wounds in the hallway. It matters to you, and I wish it didn’t. It doesn't matter to anyone decent.”

Kageyama takes a deep breath, sighs, gnaws at his lip. He didn’t think anyone would notice something like that. “I guess. I just feel—like a freak, kind of.”

“Yeah, but you're not one,” Hinata says immediately. “Don’t you get it? You’re just as talented as any other person, just as handsome as any other person, just as likable as any other person, just as _anything_ as any other person. Your wounds don’t define you. We all have them, don’t we? You just happen to show them.”

It’s something Kageyama hasn’t thought of before, that everyone else is just like him, in a way. That he’s not so different. It’s a comforting thought, but still—“I don’t know,” Kageyama says, picking at his nails. “You’re the only one I’ve met that seems to think that. But thank you.” 

Then he realizes: _handsome_. What? Did Hinata just indirectly call him handsome? It makes Kageyama feel all jumbled up inside, like thousand cocoons of butterflies just erupted inside of him. 

“Yeah, of course!” Hinata smiles at him, and sits up, oblivious to Kageyama’s inner turmoil. “Now, c’mon, let’s play some Mario Kart or something. I’m gonna totally destroy you, just you wait—”

Hinata does. Kageyama finds himself minding less than he usually would.

/ * \

Kageyama has been feeling weird around Hinata lately. Not the funny-weird or the anxiety-weird. The kind where where his stomach feels all jumbly in anticipation whenever he thinks that he’s going to see Hinata soon, where his chest feels so light that it’s practically separated from his body. It’s absolutely a _happy-weird_ , the same kind of feeling that volleyball gives him, the kind of thing that makes him excited to get up in the morning.

It’s strange. Kageyama likes it. 

What Kageyama doesn’t like is how Hinata’s begun acting funny-weird around him. All nerves and jumpiness and long, almost wistful and forlorn stares when he thinks Kageyama isn’t looking. Kageyama isn’t sure what to make of it. On one hand, maybe Hinata’s just having an off couple of days; on the other, maybe _it’s_ happening again. (The scar across his chest burns at the thought.) 

He trusts Hinata, of course, sometimes even more than he trusts his own self, but the worry still lingers, the same way the a leaf clings to tree branches even when so many others have fallen.  
Kageyama worries, and he’s not surprised when the scar on his chest has expanded even further when he gets home that night. Through the night, it burns, and burns, and burns, so contrary to the sweet spring feeling he’s come to associate with Hinata.

/ * \

Kageyama and Yamaguchi have formed a sort of understanding since they’ve met. Hinata may sympathize, but he can’t empathize, not really—well, nobody can. But Yamaguchi, with the blatant acne scars he has all over his face, is as close as Kageyama is going to get.

So, over time, they form a quiet but sure bond: a sense of companionship that, even if they aren’t as close with one another as they are with Hinata and Tsukishima, respectively, means something special to the both of them.

When Hinata starts acting weird, Yamaguchi is the first one Kageyama goes to. 

Kageyama sits with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima at lunch. Hinata’s given him some excuse about how he’s practicing with Sugawara today, even though even Kageyama knows that Sugawara usually spends his lunch with Daichi going over the previous day's practice.

Tsukishima is an asshole, but even he refuses to make jabs at Kageyama's wounds, something Kageyama is grateful for. He’s content, being with the two of them, eating his lunch in a companionable silence. 

Kageyama isn't too sure how to bring up the topic, but eventually Yamaguchi does it for him. “Don’t you usually eat with Hinata, Kageyama? I've noticed that you two have been a bit… off, lately, especially in practice. Is everything okay with you two?”

Kageyama supposes he should have expected Yamaguchi to notice, if anyone was going to. “Kind of,” he says, in-between bites, giving only a little so that Tsukishima doesn't have anything to comment on. “He’s been all jumpy and weird around me recently. Like the way he gets before a match. I don’t really know what to do about it.”

Yamaguchi glances over to Tsukishima almost knowingly, and they hold a look for just long enough for it to be strange. Tsukishima breaks eye contact with Yamaguchi to look at Kageyama, instead, and asks flatly, “Have you even tried to talk to him about it?”

“Uh, no,” Kageyama answers, caught off-guard. “I never really… thought to.”

Yamaguchi smiles at him comfortingly. “Kageyama, I really think you should talk to him and try to see what’s wrong, sort it all out. I don’t think it’s anything bad. It’ll just take a little bit of communication, that’s all.”

/ * \

Still, talking to Hinata is easier said than done. Hinata has been like sand slipping through his fingers every time Kageyama tries to corner him. There one second, gone the next, before Kageyama can even understand what’s happened.

Hinata’s smart about avoiding him. He’s somehow managed to get out of doing post-practice cleanup on days where he’d be paired with Kageyama. He’s somehow managed to change and leave so quickly after practice that there’s not even a second for Kageyama to talk to him, to absolutely disappear during lunch and in-between classes. It’s _frustrating_.

There is one thing, though. Kageyama remembers where Hinata’s house is from the numerous times he’s been over there, and, at this point, there isn’t much of an option other than showing up there, where Hinata can’t avoid him, and forcing him to talk. It’s been weeks of this, after all. Kageyama is sick of it, sick of not having his best friend—can they call themselves that? Maybe?—by his side.

He heads to Hinata’s place one afternoon, when it’s late autumn and the smell of winter—fireplaces and frost—floats in the air, nipping at Kageyama’s skin and bringing his blood up to redden it. It’s cold, but a pleasant sort of cold that Kageyama likes, the kind that soothes the gentle burn of his more recent wounds. 

It takes him a couple minutes to work up the courage to knock. He probably looks weird, just standing there outside Hinata’s house. Nervousness suddenly overtakes him. A little bruise, all purple-red with tinges of an ugly shade of green, appears on his hand as he holds it over the door, preparing to knock. 

It’s now or never, he figures. He only has to wait a few moments before the door opens to reveal Hinata’s mother, and the way she smiles so genuinely when she sees him, full of surprised cheer, makes Kageyama’s heart stop for a moment. “Oh, if it isn’t Kageyama! Come right on in, dear,” she says, stepping aside and ushering him in. “Shouyou’s right upstairs in his room. Do you need anything to eat? Some water? I didn’t know you were coming, so I’m afraid I don’t have anything made, but you can help yourself to whatever you’d like!”

Kageyama’s never quite gotten used to this onslaught of affection from Hinata’s mother, like she cared about him just as much as she cared about Hinata.

“I’ll be fine,” Kageyama says quickly. “I’ll just go up and see Hinata.”

“Oh, of course, of course!” Hinata’s mother beams at him. “You two have a good time! I’m down here if you need anything, dear.”

Kageyama gives a polite nod before turning to walk up the stairs towards Hinata’s room. The door is closed, but when he tries the knob, it’s not locked. He pushes the door open, steps in, and closes it behind him.

Hinata is sitting—slouching a little—at his desk, papers strewn across it and textbook open near the edge of the desk, with only a lamp on. He doesn’t turn around, instead saying, “Mom, I told you I’m okay. Just… really tired, that’s all.”

Kageyama clears his throat, and Hinata suddenly swivels around in his chair, sitting straight up and looking to the door. Even in the dark of the room, Hinata’s eyes are bright with surprise. “ _Kageyama_? What are you doing here?” He averts his eyes, scratching the nape of his neck.

“We need to talk. About—whatever this is between us. And why you’ve been avoiding me like—”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” Hinata lies, reaching towards the lamp on his nightstand and turning it on. “I’ve just been busy. That’s it.”

“For _weeks_ , and you can’t even spare one conversation with me? I’m not an idiot, Hinata. Something’s changed, and I just—I just want to know what it is.”

Hinata stares at the ground, picks at his fingernails. “It’s—it’s really nothing, Kageyama. There’s just been something on my mind, lately, and it’s been stressing me out. Nothing bad, just… something you probably don’t want to deal with.”

“Isn’t that what—what friends are for?” Kageyama asks, tripping over the word. It’s hard to acknowledge out loud, embarrassing to, but that’s—that’s what they are, aren’t they?

“I mean—” Hinata’s faces goes a bit red. “I mean, yes, it’s just—I don’t know.” 

It’s like talking to a wall—and, well, it hurts. Both that Hinata won’t trust him and that Hinata didn’t even bother to let him know that he was having a hard time and that was why Hinata had been so distant—just an explanation would have been fine, really. But he’d gotten nothing. “Fine,” Kageyama huffs. “I’ll just go, then, if this isn’t getting us anywhere.”

He turns and reaches for the doorknob when Hinata chimes in from behind him. It’s so soft that Kageyama barely even hears it, much less catches what he actually said. He turns a little back towards Hinata. “What?”

“I said I like you,” Hinata says, voice still all tiny and full of barely-mustered courage. 

Kageyama blinks once, twice. “I like you, too? I wouldn’t have bothered cornering you in your house otherwise.”

“Not like _that_ , stupid.” He’s becoming more certain as he goes. “Like—I think you’re pretty-like. I want—I want to be with you-like.That kind of ‘like.’”

Kageyama’s heart seizes for a moment, then almost evaporates, like the feeling when he thinks there’s one more stair than there actually is. There’s this fluttery sort of bounciness in his chest, all nervous-giddy, and he can’t figure out what to make of it. “Hinata—”

“I know you don’t feel the same,” Hinata says quicky. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, though. We can just keep going on like usual.” Hinata bites his lip and avoids making eye contact with Kageyama. “You don’t have to, like, comfort me or anything. You can just go.”

Kageyama desperately wants to say something, wants to assure Hinata that, yeah, this doesn't have to mean that anything will change, that he doesn’t think any different of him, but Hinata’s already turned away.

The conversation isn’t over. The confusion welling up within him says as much, but, still, Kageyama goes.

/ * \

Hinata is different, after that. The thing that really bothers Kageyama is that Hinata’s just fine and dandy with everyone else, but as soon as Kageyama’s in the picture, his entire demeanor changes. With Kageyama, he becomes more subdued, quieter, like an illusion of himself flickering under scrutiny.There’s none of those slaps on the back or fearless insistences that Kageyama should come over to his house that Kageyama had come to expect. He seems almost _scared_.

Hinata won’t seek him out anymore. It’s only when Kageyama reaches out that Hinata will seem more like himself, like how things used to be. 

Kageyama hates it. He has wounds cropping up almost daily again, and bad ones, at that: ones that hurt almost constantly, making it almost impossible to practice. They’re all the putrid red-purple that he knows signifies they aren’t healing on their own anytime soon, or scars and scabs that feel like being stabbed every time he moves a certain way. It hasn’t been like this since middle school.

He starts eating lunch with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, again. Yamaguchi has that quiet presence that’s soothing, that feels like it’s extracting all the poison all built up from the stress of the whole issue with Hinata. And Tsukishima is, well, Tsukishima, but at least he’s a distraction—anger is better than… whatever this feeling is.

Neither of them touch the obvious elephant in the room until Kageyama does.

“Hinata said he likes me,” Kageyama tells them after a long lull in their conversation, maybe a week after Hinata’s confession. 

The look on their faces says that they already knew as much, though whether it was about Hinata’s crush or the situation itself, Kageyama isn’t sure. Yamaguchi puts his silverware down, voice gentle when he speaks. “And you turned him down?”

“He turned himself down, more like. He didn’t let me say anything, and even if he had, I just… I don’t really get it. Liking someone in that way, I mean.” Kageyama takes a bite of his food for a lack of anything better to do. It’s tasteless, but it’s something.

Yamaguchi and Tsukishima exchange a look. There’s a moment of silence before Tsukishima says, deadpan, “I’m not surprised you don’t. But it’s not like you can’t figure it out. Even volleyball idiots can interpret their feelings.”

Yamaguchi throws an half-amused, half-placating look at Tsukishima before turning back to Kageyama with a kinder look on his face. “I still think talking to Hinata is the best option, Kageyama. I think it’ll clear things up. But before you to, I would think about what exactly Hinata means to you. How he makes you feel. After all, you feel differently about Hinata than you do me, don’t you?”

/ * \

Hinata is predictable. Kageyama knows, always, what he’ll get for lunch, when he’ll get to school, when he’s going to ask for more tosses. He also knows that there is one place Hinata always goes when he’s feeling stressed. Hinata had showed it to him, after a particularly crushing loss, and it had stuck in his memory.

There’s a little forest trail nearby the school, easily within walking distance, that was meant for hiking during physical education class. It’s been practically abandoned since the curriculum changed a few years ago, so the paths are all unkempt and weedy now, but there’s a certain beauty in its freedom. At least, Hinata had said as much when he tugged Kageyama down the path into a clearing. The trees formed a canopy that allowed only the tiniest bit of light to filter through. They could see the dust and pollen floating whimsically in the air.

Rocks are scattered throughout the clearing, big enough to sit on and rest for a bit. Small flowers, too, forming a dark array of colors, and ferns carving out a path—a little haven removed from the world.

If there’s one place Hinata’s going during his lunch breaks, it’s here. Kageyama remembers the path well enough to traverse it on his own, and he can understand why Hinata loves it here so much. It feels like a whole other dimension, a place without worry or fear.

Kageyama can see Hinata in the clearing before he even enters it. The orange-red of his hair is blatant among the gentle, coaxing browns and greens of the forest around them, and it’s so quiet that Kageyama swears he can hear both of them breathing.

When he steps into the clearing, Hinata looks up as though a trance has been broken, surprise written all over his face. When he sees Kageyama, anxiety overtakes it. Kageyama feels his heart sink into his stomach. “I just… wanted to talk,” Kageyama says.

He nods in a sort of resigned agreement, and Kageyama sits on the ground next to him, crossing his legs. He watches the way the sun filters through the trees and down to the flowers, the way the flowers have turned, just so, towards the light. “I wanted to ask why you like me. And how you knew. I just… don’t get how you could like me.”

Hinata blinks at him in owlish confusion. It’s cute, in a way. “Won’t that make you uncomfortable? I know you don’t—”

“Nothing about you makes me uncomfortable, dumbass. Just—talk.”

 

“Oh.” Hinata is quiet for a moment, and his gaze follows Kageyama’s towards the flowers. 

His voice is tiny, at first, but it gets louder as he goes on, gaining confidence. Kageyama is surprised that he’s willing to talk about it, but maybe he’s been wanting to. Maybe it’s been crawling inside him the same way it’s been bothering Kageyama. Maybe he misses talking to Kageyama as much as Kageyama misses talking to Hinata. “I like everything about you, kind of. It’s hard to separate it out into specific things. I like how passionate about volleyball you are. I like how you never get tired of being with me. I like how tall you are. I like how you pretend you’re so cool and collected, but deep down, you’re just as stupid as I am—don’t give me that look! You know it’s true.” Hinata sticks his tongue out at him. “I like how confident in yourself you are. I like how brave you are. I like how far you’ve come. I like how handsome you are—um.” Hinata blushes, evident even in the dim light of the clearing, and scratches at his cheek. 

“You can’t seriously think I’m handsome,” Kageyama deadpans. He’s kind of—no, _very_ flustered from hearing Hinata say all those things about him, even the more inane ones (how _tall_ he is?). To think that someone actually likes him that much—to think that _Hinata_ likes him that much— “There’s no way—”

“There _is_ a way, idiot. You’re so—I admire you a lot for dealing with all the crap people give you for all your wounds, and you’re—you’re just pretty, okay? With or without the wounds.” Kageyama gives him a look. “I’m being honest! You’re—it’s how I figured out I liked you. ‘Cause I realized I thought you were more handsome than, like, any girl in school. Like, on par with Shimizu-senpai. And then it just escalated into realizing that I liked everything about you _so much_ it made my heart hurt—”

“What does it… feel like?”

“Well, I dunno. You’re kind of my—don’t make fun of me for this, but, um. You’re my first real crush. So I can’t explain it well, but for me, it’s like—all gwah, and—” He catches the impatience written all over Kageyama’s face. “You know when you open a window, and the wind’s blowing, and the fresh air comes in and it smells so nice? Like everything’s being reborn and healed? It’s all new and it just… breathes life into me and makes me so excited for what’s gonna happen next. That’s what it’s like, being with you. You feel like tomorrow.”

Hinata looks down, kicking his feet in silence for a few moments. Kageyama watches them, the way they go back and forth, hit the rock again and again. His mind is simultaneously in overdrive and drawing a total blank, and it tumbles out of his mouth before he can even process it. “I like you, too.”

Hinata’s whirls around, staring piercingly at Kageyama. “What? Are you… sure? If you need time to think about it or something, that’s fine, you know—” 

“ _Yes_ , I’m sure, dumbass. It’s—you—that’s how I feel around you. All that—stuff about feeling new and healed and excited and everything. That’s exactly what it’s like,” Kageyama insists, tripping over his words a little. 

Hinata’s eyes spark for a second. “You… you’re absolutely sure? You really mean it?”

Kageyama’s heart flutters a little bit at the gentle, cautious hope in Hinata’s voice. “Yes, dumbass. Didn’t I say as much?”

Hinata’s whole face screws up, eyes sparkling, and there’s a big smile on his face, trembling like it’s going to collapse under its own weight. He gets up off the rock and practically throws himself at Kageyama, hugging him and knocking him to the ground. The dirt ground is surprisingly soft.

Hinata unwraps his arms from around him, braces his hands on either side of Kageyama, and just looks down into Kageyama’s eyes. The way the light cascades down from the canopy around him makes him look almost ethereal, something out of a dream. He’s beautiful, and Kageyama’s heart aches a little. 

“I really like you,” Hinata breathes, but it’s loud in Kageyama’s ears. 

“Me, too,” Kageyama whispers back, his heartbeat soft and gentle.

When Hinata kisses him, just a tiny little peck on the cheek over one of his fading wounds, it doesn’t hurt. No, it feels like everything is slotting together just right, like the fire on Hinata’s cheeks and the shyness in his gaze was the connecting puzzle piece to Kageyama’s fluttery heart and small besotted smile.

/ * \

Kageyama has wounds all over his body.

Some of them have been there for ages; some of them are recent. Some of them are his own fault; some of them are because of others. Some of them are meaningful to him; some of them aren’t.

They’ve been around for as long as he can remember, and will be around for as long as he lives. That’s okay. He’s gotten used to it, even during periods where he gets new, painful ones almost daily. They’re a part of him, just as emotional hurt is part of any other person, as Hinata has told him plenty of times. He just happens to show it.

They’ve certainly given each other emotional wounds before, but Hinata has this sort of healing presence that makes Kageyama forget his worries, makes his wounds mend themselves all the quicker.

And so, Kageyama learns to heal.

**Author's Note:**

> credit to my sweetheart [robin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferTM/pseuds/luciferTM) for betaing!
> 
> thanks so much for reading!! please feel free to comment with concrit or anything else—i appreciate it a ton!
> 
> i'm on twitter [@hhatsunetsu](https://twitter.com/hhatsunetsu) if you'd like to chat!


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